


and build a house around you

by subcas



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Angry Sex, Bottom Castiel, Fallen Castiel, Human Castiel, Hunter Castiel, M/M, Marking, Protective Castiel, Protective Dean Winchester, Riding, Topping from the Bottom
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-04-18
Updated: 2013-04-18
Packaged: 2017-12-08 20:12:25
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,614
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/765522
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/subcas/pseuds/subcas
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After a close call on a hunt, Dean and Cas try to work out their frustration.</p>
            </blockquote>





	and build a house around you

**Author's Note:**

> Written for a prompt on the kink meme: _Cas riding Dean's dick like he was born for it_.
> 
> This is sort of that.

Dean's seen Cas from infinitely many angles, in stolen glances and too long stares: 

sleep rumpled and grumpy, with pillow creases across his cheeks and rubbing grittiness out of his eyes, petulantly demanding coffee because it turns out that a fallen angel does not a morning person make, grouchy and so achingly human; seen his face melt into something almost unrecognizable by sunlight shining down on his brow, nose, cheekbones, lips, transforming his familiar features into planes so sharp and bright they could be carved from marble; watched before a hunt as he hardened, from the gummy smiling crinkle-nosed Cas that brought him pie and kissed him sweeter than it, into _Castiel_ , who fought like he was dancing, viciously, splattered in gore, blood, viscera. Knives resting as easy in his hands as if he was born with them in his palms, eyes ice chips, something unearthly still seeming to glow in him, like he was the weapon even more than he wielded one.

If Dean were feeling sentimental he'd say that Cas looks beautiful from every goddamn one, but he doesn't say shit like that, not out loud. Cas is a soldier, like him, has been one for millenia, and sometimes it’s easy to forget when he’s swiping fries from Dean’s plate and glittering with excitement because, "I understood that reference!" 

It's simple to be with him, sometimes shockingly so, to fit together as easy as they did when they were whatever they were before, friendsbrotherscomrades _family_ , to bicker and hunt and laugh, to get to have all that and even more. To fight, side by side, back to back, almost preternaturally in sync; to fuck, fitting together seamlessly, from battlefield to bedroom.

It had taken Cas falling for him (in the most literal sense) for Dean to get his act together and finally kiss him, and now when he looks back at the past him, who couldn’t see what was staring him in the face, well, he understands why Sam was always rolling his eyes and smirking (which he still does, often, only with a lot more teasing about what a dumbass Dean was and is, the little shit).

But that’s not what Dean was thinking about as he furiously attacked Cas’s mouth, hands rucking up Cas’s stupid t-shirt that was blocking his way to get at all that soft skin, no, he was thinking that Cas still fought like an angel, and that included a reckless disregard for his own safety.

He reluctantly dragged himself out of the kiss to growl, “You’re not fucking indestructible anymore _asshole_.”

Cas, flush rising high on his cheeks, half arousal, half anger, panted out, “You’re the one who insists on constantly putting himself into danger—” was all he got out before Dean dove back in, cutting him off, Cas biting at his bottom lip in retribution.

They tumble-fumbled their way down the hall, refusing to let go of each other, Dean’s hands grasping desperately at Cas’s face, kissing him open-mouthed and sloppy, Cas’s arms locked around Dean’s neck, giving back as good as he got, as they ran into walls, pausing every time to spend a few minutes making-out, and knocked over furniture on their circuitous route to the bedroom.

Once they get there, Cas practically tackles Dean to the bed and straddles his hips before leaning down to hiss, “I was protecting you.”

Dean rolls his eyes, he should’ve know Cas wouldn’t leave it, the stubborn bastard. “I don’t need protecting,” he shoots back.

“You did tonight!” Cas snaps, his face a rictus of cold rage, eyes blazing blue, jaw set so tightly that Dean would almost swear he could hear his teeth grinding, lips compressed into a tight angry line.

Dean knows that he’s right, that they’d probably be at a hospital right now instead of walking away with scrapes and bruises if Cas hadn’t thrown himself in front of Dean’s prone body and, _barely_ , managed to rattle off an exorcism while dodging the blade of the hulking demon that seemed pretty intent on gutting them both like fish. Cas had been barehanded.

He doesn’t respond with words, just sits up and yanks Cas’s shirt up off his arms and tosses it aside so they both can see the thin clotted gash on his stomach where he hadn’t jumped back from a swipe of the knife quite quick enough.

“He could have killed you,” Dean said, words hanging quiet in the air still steeped with anger.

Cas batted it right back at him, “He _would’ve_ killed you.”

He punctuated the sentence by grinding his hips down against Dean’s erection, dirty move, trying to distract him from his argument, the cheater. Well two could play that game and no one beat Dean in this arena.

He pulled his own shirt over his head, before leaning forward to press his lips against Cas’s neck and suck a bruise, above where it could be hidden by his shirt collar. Cas didn’t make a peep, and Dean knew he was holding back from letting out the noise he wanted to make just to be bratty because Cas was loud enough to wake the dead when he got going. He couldn’t stop himself from rocking forward in Dean’s lap though. Still, it took Dean grinding up against his ass while palming his dick through his jeans to finally wrest a moan from him. Dean smirked and Cas scowled but when Dean leaned forward to tell him to take off his pants, he obeyed. It prompted an awkward shuffle, with both of them trying to get undressed without stopping touching each new bare patch of skin that was revealed, ending in Dean kicking his jeans and boxers off his ankles and Cas throwing his over his shoulder before reaching over to the bedside table to grab the lube.

Dean expected him to hand it over to him, but instead Cas rose up on his knees and poured a liberal amount of lube out, before using his other arm to push Dean flat against the bed, his hand splayed out over Dean’s chest for balance, making him watch as Cas arched and threw his head back, panting, sinking down onto his own fingers slowly. 

So yeah, Cas was still pissed as hell, because Dean knew this was supposed to be punishment. They both loved when he got Cas ready, making him writhe with just a few of his fingers, bringing him to the edge and back down, again and again, until he was practically incoherent with pleasure, until he _begged_ Dean to fuck him. Though it was hardly a hardship to watch the sight unfolding before him, he was almost irrationally jealous that he wasn’t the one causing the little low noises Cas was inadvertently releasing from the back of his throat. 

Still, Dean wasn’t going to let Cas's idea of discipline deter him from getting involved and he'd always thought things were better with some audience participation anyway. Plus, there was no one better than him at getting Cas hot, even if it didn’t get to be his fingers opening up his tight little hole, and he wasn’t about to let him think he could do without Dean. He hoisted himself up onto one elbow, his free hand pinching at Cas’s nipple as his mouth found its partner and sucked. That drove a groan, half-arousal, half-surprise, deep from Cas.

“Forget about me?” Dean asked, tilting his face up towards, aiming for snarky confidence but ending up somewhere near disgruntled instead.

“Never.” Cas breathed down at him. He didn’t give Dean any time to react to that declaration, which was most likely for the best because Dean had no idea how to respond. Instead he pulled free of himself and jacked Dean’s dick, which, granted, was an effective way to shut him up.

Dean’s hands automatically flew up to fit themselves on the spurs of Cas’s hipbones, thumbs rubbing the skin there soothingly, as Cas fitted himself onto Dean, pulling them together. He couldn’t decide which was hotter, the warmth of Cas’s opening around him or his eyes burning unrelentlessly blue into him. They were both trembling, Cas’s elegant hands shaking against their resting place on Dean’s chest, trying to relax as he sunk down onto the cock under him, and Dean fighting the urge to instinctively buck up to meet the really fucking amazing ecstasy that was descending, agonizingly slowly, with each increment of Cas’s body opening to him.

Cas took all of him in and paused, tight and hot and still quivering, his hands unsteady. Something in the bow of his neck, the refusal of his eyes to meet his, sparked Dean to break the silence. 

“I can’t lose you,” Dean said softly, “I need you.” He traced his fingertips reverentially down Cas’s cheek, thumb catching on his lip. So quick Dean swore he didn’t even see him move, Cas sucked it down before pulling off slow, the fan of his eyelashes dark across his cheekbones as he hummed softly, the slickwethot of his mouth retreating to leave behind nothing but cool air and the ghost of his touch. The depth of the intensity in his movements shocked Dean into silent stillness. Breath hovering warm over Dean’s fingertip, Cas’s eyes shot open to meet Dean’s and he carefully enunciated, each word a soft puff released against Dean’s skin, “I need you too.”

He leaned forward and kissed him feather-light, sweet and soft as cotton candy, almost chaste—if Dean wasn’t currently buried to the hilt in him. It was close to torturous not to move but Cas wasn’t done yet. “Don’t you—” and kissed he kissed him again but this one was desperate. “know how much—” and again, hands grasping onto each other, Cas’s scruff scraping against the tender skin on his mouth, lighting up nerve endings. “I _need you_?”

Dean was about to respond, to scoff, to laugh, to tell Cas that he was nothing special, but it seemed like Cas knew him there too, because he didn’t give him a chance to speak before he rose up onto his knees and slammed back down again, and again, and again, arching his back and letting out breathless _ah, ah, ah_ sounds each time he relentlessly took Dean in until flesh knocked against flesh, the slapslap of sweaty skin echoing Dean’s own choked out moans.

It was good, it was so good, and Cas looked like a god above him, with his head thrown back and his hair sweat-black, with Cas riding him like a pro, like Dean was paying him to keep up this blinding rhythm, to clench around Dean like a vise on every upstroke, to buck, and moan and sigh. It felt like sex. Good—god, great—sex, but impersonal enough that Cas could swap in any person to fuck himself on, eyes squeezed shut, and it wouldn’t make a difference because he was going to make them both come.

Dean wasn’t about to let that happen. Cas was here, on top of him, and that’s where he belonged. He was still gripping Cas’s waist and he pressed tighter, maybe hard enough that tomorrow Cas would still have the memory of his hands there, bruised into his skin, making Cas slow his frantic pace down before hoisting himself upwards so he could kiss Cas’s scowling red lips. The new position gave him more leverage, his bent legs making Cas move forward until he had to be seated fully on his lap to move comfortably.

“Slow down babe,” he said, before dipping forward for another languid kiss, lips and tongues, and a little teeth, until Cas relaxed into him, “we got time.”

Cas linked his hands together behind Dean, using his shoulders as a base for him to push off of, until he could raise himself up enough to be able to grind back down into Dean’s lap slowly. They were both panting, and Cas could feel the burn in his legs, shaking from the exertion of trying to ride Dean into oblivion. This was easier, with Dean helping his every movement, lifting him up and pulling him back down onto his cock. They were so close, their lips almost brushing every time Dean bucked his hips up, and Cas found that he couldn’t look away, couldn’t bear to break contact with those green eyes that he was sure he’d spent hours, days, months even, studying. Yet they never seemed to stop being fascinating.

And if things had gone differently, he’d be looking at them glazed in death, or he wouldn’t be looking at all. How did Dean not understand by now that he’d throw himself in front of a bullet if it meant it would save Dean’s life? Danger was one thing, their jobs were dangerous, their lives were dangerous, but this went beyond that. After everything, Dean still didn’t consider himself worth being saved.

Cas buried his head into the crook of Dean’s neck. His desire to stay here, buried in Dean, Dean buried in him, enveloped in each other forever, warred with the need to move, blossoming deep in his stomach. The shift forward had pressed Dean’s dick deeper inside, and now it was pressing against his prostate, painfully pleasurable. He rolled his hips and Dean groaned by his ear. So he did it over and over.

“You feel so good,” Dean babbled, “so good.”

Cas didn’t know how he was even forming words, but Dean had always been better at keeping his head during sex. Cas got lost in it, the feelings: pleasure, obviously, but not just that, every sensation. Hurt, nails digging into skin, the burning stretch every time he took Dean inside, bruises and bites sucked and pressed on his body, friction burns from rope, rug burns from when they didn’t make it to the bed; the emotions, closeness, Cas couldn’t shut it down, he didn’t know how to hide himself while being stripped so bare in so many ways, he’d cried silently, overwhelmed, the first time Dean had tied him up and when Dean noticed he’d been horrified, convinced he’d done something terrible, Cas could barely make his mouth move to explain that he wasn’t hurt—he just felt so much; the good things, and the bad, so much came out in the act. As an angel, he’d never understood humanity’s obsession with it, until he’d fallen and been with Dean for the first time.

He wished he could tell Dean this but every time he tried, it ended up coming out wrong. Sex with Dean was precious, but apparently Dean didn’t know what to do when Cas said things like that, especially when it came after pulling off Dean’s dick mid-blowjob. So instead of telling Dean that he deserved everything, he moaned brokenly and tried to say with his body what he couldn’t with his words.

Still he mouthed _I love you, I love you, I love you_ , against the delicate skin of Dean’s throat each time he rose up, desperate to breathe the truth into Dean's body, to make him realize that he was worth more than anything. Maybe he said it out loud too, he didn’t know, he was so lost in the feeling of Dean surrounding him. Cas clung to Dean, and Dean clung back, nails digging into his back, like he could keep him there forever by sheer force of will, and together they rode out the storm.

Afterwards, lying panting side by side, arms touching, Dean sighed and spoke.

“If you get yourself killed, I’ll kill you.”

“That doesn’t make any sense—”

“Shut up.” Dean interrupted before rolling onto Cas to kiss him gently.


End file.
